


Distraction

by RosalYuvan



Category: Voltron - All Media Types, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Because I live for the cute shit, Cute, Cuz everyone deserves a little Lotor love, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Gender-neutral Reader, Head-over-heals-in-love Lotor, M/M, Oneshot, Red String of Fate, Romance, for now, possible multi-shot, soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 13:37:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19888708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosalYuvan/pseuds/RosalYuvan
Summary: In which Lotor tries not to be distracted. And fails.





	Distraction

**Author's Note:**

> A little something I wrote back during season 3 or 4 if I remember correctly. Thought it was cute and decided to post it. May continue it. 
> 
> Please leave comments!

“This is... Unexpected.” Lotor’s eyes drew back and forth along the thin glowing red string. After living for over a thousand decaphoebes, he was startled out of bed one morning by the offensive little thread wrapping around his finger. Ezor could vouch for him; she was the lone (surviving) witness of his freak out.

Galra didn’t care for the red string. Emperor Zarkon had the meaning behind it erased from history. Propaganda stated it represented weakness and was something to be purged. Some took this too literally; Lotor was quick to notice as a young boy the missing fingers on soldiers in the military. He would rather avoid such a drastic course of action.

So Lotor ignored it. His generals were the only ones he confided in of its existence. Ezor would pester him every so often about seeing where it went. All of them would – even Narti, in subtle ways. They dropped it in conversations and brought it up during patrols of the outer rim when Lotor was trapped on deck with nowhere to go.

“No! I won’t have any distractions,” he told them. But every phoebe that passed the string would change. It happened slowly, subtly, like a growth spirt over night. The diameter of the string grew; the soft rosy glow it gave off became brighter.

Then Voltron made its grand rebirth into the universe. News of the giant mech spread like wildfire and eventually reached an outpost on a rocky-plains planet where Lotor was resupplying his cruiser. Zethrid had tried to deck a creature for laughing at how miserably the Galra were losing to a ten thousand year old robot. He’d never admit it aloud, but he completely agreed; his father’s obsession with the black lion was costing the Galra too much. It really _was_ laughable.

Barely a month later, the great Emperor Zarkon was out of commission, and Lotor’s banishment was lifted. Amazing, it was, how easily a five century long exile could be disregarded in an instant – when convenience demanded it. A long time ago, Lotor would have been eternally grateful for the chance to return home – to see New Daibazaal again.

Now... he didn’t know _what_ to feel.

Lotor submerged himself in plans. He needed to gain the Empire’s favour, and fast – before Zarkon could make a recovery and steal back the control Lotor always craved. Things needed to change; the Galra alone, despite their technological advancements, could never compare to the work of Alteans, a fact he prided in. The Empire needed allies or Voltron would topple a ten thousand year old kingdom like a pile of stones.

His first trips were back to the outer rim. Lotor collected favours and paid off debts. Slowly but surely he was gaining a reputation. A fair but ruthless leader; he was a uniter, not a conqueror. As long as the powers stayed in line, he wouldn’t have to interfere and put someone else in charge. He needed supporters – ones who didn’t fear him like they feared Zarkon.

A surprising opportunity presented itself when Princess Allura (She was alive. The thought was more concerning to him than it should’ve been) contacted him and requested – or, more accurately, _demanded_ – he meet herself and her paladins for a diplomatic rendezvous. He trusted her word about out as much as he respected Zarkon – that number was _hilariously_ low, for the record.

But he flew to the small, drifting grass-land planet anyway. The chance to earn Voltron’s backing in the war was too great to let slip by.

“I...” Speechless. He was _speechless_. His words, the silver-tongue he utilized so effortlessly, were failing him. Acxa called his name and though Lotor heard it clearly, somewhere between his ears and his head it was lost in transmission. He was falling, lost in the eyes.

 _Your_ eyes.

Bright as New Daibazaal’s second sun, there was the red string. Bare for the world to see, it was wrapped in a small-eared bow around your fourth finger. It was terrifying; such a small, seemingly insignificant colour had such a dramatic effect on him. What was he supposed to do? No one taught him what to do when one end caught up to the other.

Your head turned to the side. “Princess,” your voice. Oh, _Altea_ , your voice. Lotor might as well have demanded Haggar transform him into one of her mindless mechanical monsters because, _Maker_ , he’d never felt so utterly hypnotized by a sound. Weakness. His father was right about that; the string was such a tempting weakness. Galra could go mad being near it.

Lotor must have spaced out because when he came too, Allura was snapping for his attention and you were nowhere to be seen. Focus. _Focus!_ He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and straightened his posture. He needed to worry about you later.

“My apologies,” Lotor cleared his throat, dropping his tone to something sweeter. Civil, he reminded himself. He needed to be civil and polite. “It’s been so long, Allura, I nearly forgot what you looked like. Still as beautiful as I remember.” He tested the waters. Flattery, simple in its form, could sway even the smartest beings.

“It is Princess Allura, Prince Lotor,” she corrected icily. Oh, she was still as stingy for titles as he remembered. Princess this, queen that, king please. “And I seem to remember you being knee high and barely able to make a coherent sentence. More of a runt than anything else.”

Lotor’s eyes narrowed a fraction. He underestimated her pettiness. “Things change in ten thousand years. You simply seem to be an exception. I wonder why?” Oh. So much for civil.

Allura’s teeth barred, ready to leap out and scratch him. But, to his mild surprise, she pulled back and schooled her expression. Funny, if he had done that ten thousand years ago she would have marched on top of the table and tried to strangle him. Lotor grinned at the memory (a look the Paladins were unsettled by). Brushing back her silver-white hair, Allura reached to her leff and screened through her computer.

The universe revealed itself in the form of a crystalline holo-map.

“I’ll be quick because frankly you get on my nerves even more than I remember.”

“You goaded me, remember,” Lotor scowled, itching his hand. “If you called me here just to waste time insulting me I’m not sure you’ll make it off the planet with my generals controlling the cruiser. Zethrid is rather trigger happy on her _good_ days.”

“As if your ship could ever hit our lions,” the blue paladin remarked. “I think we’ll be just fine.”

You’d be surprised, Lotor wanted to say.

Allura huffed, staring him straight in the eyes. “Let’s get down to business.”

* * *

In summary, Lotor spent an hour trying to understand what would posses the Paladins to request an alliance with him. The other five hours he was trying to figure out where you’d gone. _Maker_ , he’d barely seen you for thirty seconds and you already took full control of his thoughts.

Your eyes, your face, your voice – _you_ _._ Why did you have such a grip on him? The string, no doubt. He’d never felt this way before. His heart raced and his hands pressed into one another to keep him seated. The desire to chase after you was overwhelmingly strong.

“I believe we need time alone to think about your offer,” thank New Daibazaal that Acxa could keep up with what was going on. She must have noticed his spaced-out stare.

Allura sighed, exasperated. “Fine. But we expect your answer in forty-eight hours.” Perfect. Forty-eight hours to find you and ask what the string meant.

Lotor’s chair skidded backwards as he jumped up. The sudden motion spooked everyone, even his generals. He only grinned. “Wonderful. I have something that I need to attend to, but you can expect our answer very soon.” Impatient. When was the last time he was in such a rush?

In a few long strides he was out of the conference room. The string dangled at his side and trailed down the hallway. For once, he would give in to curiosity and distractions. He needed to know.

“Hey, Your Highness?” Ezor piped up behind him. “You feelin’ alright?”

“Never better, Ezor!” declared Lotor. “You and Acxa head back to the pod, contact Zethrid and Narti. Fill them in; I want their opinions when I return.”

“What are you doing, my Prince?” Acxa questioned warily. Lotor wasn’t himself. He knew it; they knew it. The prince saluted them and spun on his heels, turning towards the string.

“I am searching for my distraction.”

* * *

He found you.

Lotor remembered very little about the Castle of Lions. A niggling sensation of _deja vu_ followed him through the white halls as he neared what he remembered to be the living spaces. He stayed in one, once upon a time. What an odd thing to remember; a memory with loving parents and warmth.

The door – Lotor stopped and stared at it. You were behind this door, he knew it. The red string led straight inside. So why was he hesitating? His hand shook as he raised it. Maker, Lotor, _just knock on the door!_ An easy wrist flick is all it will take.

Stepping back, he held his arms together tightly. _Weak_. He was weak for you. Clammy hands, dry throat, jittery nerves, and all. Like a school boy’s first crush. Lotor couldn’t remember his first crush (no, wait, it was probably Allura for ten seconds until she opened her mouth and called him small for a Galra) but he was sure this was how it felt — perhaps tenfold.

Pacing in front of the door, Lotor muttered to himself. His head bowed down as he rubbed his chin, arm folded across his chest. How would he introduce himself to you? As a prince? The Emperor Pro-Tem? Just Lotor? No, you already knew who he was; another introduction would be pointless. What would he say? He needed your name, of course! Good start – ask for your name. Then what? Killing a Weblam was easier than _this—_

He shouted in alarm as your door slid open. With his arms shooting comically around his head, Lotor stared in wide-eyed shock at you, who wore a similar expression of surprise.

“You...” you began, opening your mouth to say something before snapping it shut and shaking your head. If it was even possible, your voice sounded even more melodic when directed at him. A siren luring him in. He could walk straight into your trap and be none the wiser.

Instead, you smiled (and it took all his willpower not to swoon at your feet). “You pace loudly, did you know that? I thought there were at least three people out here.”

Regaining his composure, Lotor tipped his head to the side, hiding his blush. “My apologies. I was lost in thought.” You hummed out something he couldn’t quite understand and leaned against the doorframe.

You had changed clothes. While in the conference room you’d worn grey armour identical to the paladins, now you were dressed in casual wear: baggy pants and a tight fitting shirt. _Maker_ , you made everything look wonderful. How incredible would you look in something more regal?

“I won’t lie: I was really hoping you left already.” You froze at the sinking expression on Lotor’s face. “I-I mean– sorry, I don’t mean it in a rude way I–” You stammered, hands waving frantically. “I’m glad you’re here, I swear – I’ve always wanted to meet you! It’s just... Talking about the string isn’t something I ever thought I’d be doing. I’m not very... experienced with this. I thought I’d have more time. To prepare.”

His shoulders sagged in relief. Neither was Lotor, if he was honest. Schooling his expression, the Galra prince waved off your concerns. “May I come in?”

He heard you swallow, nervousness leaving a gloss in your eyes. Shiny, he thought. Very pretty. You shook your head and motioned inside. “Yeah. Just, please ignore the mess. I swear it isn’t as disorganized as it looks.” The prince glanced inside and saw clothes tossed on the floor and paper discarded lazily in scattered piles. You were funny, he noted. Did you mean to be funny or was it just your way of speaking?

A warm, disarming smile graced his lips. “I’ll take your word for it.”

* * *

“What does the string mean?” You offered him a seat anywhere, so he took the nearest chair (the one by your computer) and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees for support.

You were clearly taken aback by the question. “You don’t know?” The way you said it, like it was obvious, irked him slightly. But this was likely common information to you. He couldn’t blame you for that. 

“Knowledge of the string has diluted over the past ten thousand years,” he explained, sourly. “My father decided it was a form of weakness amongst Galra-kind that needed to be ignored.” You sat cross-legged on your bed, holding a large pillow to your chest. Lotor noticed you kept looking everywhere but at him. The floor, the blankets, the dirty clothes – all seemed to be able to hold your attention better than he could. You were distracted and it was distracting him.

“Okay,” you breathed, clearing your throat. “On my planet it is believed to connect the halves of a split soul. In general terms, we are soulmates. Humans believe that soulmates are destined to...” You wrung your hands together, trailing off, but Lotor caught on to what you meant.

“Is that something you want?”

“No,” your immediate answer hurt (not that he’d admit that), “I mean yes!” Wait, which was it? You sighed, exasperated. “For humans, we’re always anxious to meet our soulmate. Of course I’ve always wanted to meet them – you – I always imagined what it would be like when we met. Certainly didn’t think it would happen in a war room of all places...”

Neither did Lotor; he imagined it would be much worse. Him standing over you and your people as a conquerer – people to be subjugated, another culture lost, for another thousand decaphoebes. The thought was even more nightmarish than before. Now your face replaced the nameless one he imagined; it felt too real.

“Being with my soulmate is something I always dreamed of,” you admitted. “But sometimes, people reject it. Others never find the other end of their thread and eventually have to find romance elsewhere. So the chance that you wouldn’t want me was always a possibility I... understood.” The solemn resignation in your voice stung. For a moment he thought about all the creatures unfortunate enough to have Galra soulmates; they would always be creatures with a void where their other half should have been.

“But you still want your soulmate, correct?” You still want _him?_

“Of course!” Your answer – assertive and strong – startled him. Eyes alight with hope, the prince found his chest constricting with warmth. Lotor leaned back, locking his fingers together in his lap. What a predicament the two of you found yourselves. He wanted this – wanted _you_. If he left you – or you left him – he wasn’t sure he could handle it.

“I believe it is safe to assume that if I asked you to leave Voltron behind and join me, you would say no.”

The look you gave him said it all. He could have laughed at the hard set annoyance in your eyes. “I could never betray them.” And, in a way, Lotor was fine with that; loyalty was difficult to come by these days — your dedication was admirable. Perhaps he could use your shared bond to his advantage.

He rubbed his chin. “Telling the paladins we are... soulmates,” he’d hesitated, but the word felt warm on his tongue. It _belonged_ there, “would make everyone more civil during discussions. But they could also get the wrong impression and prevent me from seeing you.” He’d gladly let Zethrid have her way with the artillery if such a thing occurred.

You chewed your bottom lip thoughtfully. Lotor thought it was cute. “If I was able to vouch for you, I think it would work.”

“For our sakes, I hope that is the case.” The prince stood from his chair and you followed suit. The blinking clock on your nightstand was warning him. Stay any longer and the paladins would be crashing through the door. It was a blessing they hadn’t stormed in already. “I should be going. I’m sure I’ve overstayed my welcome in the castle.”

“Wait!” you winced at how loud you were. Lotor’s ears twitched at attention, eagerly awaiting what you had to say. “Is there a way for me to contact you?”

Lotor blinked. Right! Communication. “Do you have a– yes, thank you.” The datapad was already in his hands before he could blink. “This is my personal communication channel. Call whenever you want and I will answer.” Because hearing your voice was a gift when dealing with soldiers everyday.

You smiled ecstatically. “Perfect! I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

He couldn’t deny the elation he felt hearing this. “Until then, my soul.” With a suaveness he would pat himself on the back for later, Lotor bent down and kissed the back of your hand. The darling shade of red that grew on your cheeks made him grin wider. “I look forward to it.”

On the way to his ship, Lotor strode with more hope than he’d had in a long time. This feeling, this connection, he experienced with you, had him wishing he’d sought you out sooner. For comfort. For strength. But perhaps it was always meant to be this way. Fate had brought him to you in the end. You, as a member of Voltron. You, a creature somehow so intriguing to him, Lotor was brimming with questions. You, who gave him the chance he wasn’t sure he deserved. You, you, _you..._

It was only when he returned to the bridge of his ship that he froze.

A resounding smack echoed through the room, startling Kova and Narti from their catnap at the holo-table. The cat blinked owlishly, unable to understand why their prince was slamming his head against the door so harshly.

_“I forgot to ask their name!”_


End file.
